


crowned with lilies and with laurel they go

by 26stars, lazyfish



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Getting Together, Multi, Past Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:42:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23388313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/26stars/pseuds/26stars, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazyfish/pseuds/lazyfish
Summary: Leo Fitz raises someone from the dead, and gets on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s radar. From then on, nothing's the same.
Relationships: Leo Fitz/Lance Hunter/Bobbi Morse/Jemma Simmons
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	crowned with lilies and with laurel they go

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Marvel Rarepair Bang - art by the lovely 26stars/@loved-the-stars-too-fondly!

_I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground._

_So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:_

_Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned_

_With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned._

\---

Bobbi leaned back in her seat, ignoring the goosebumps rippling on her arms in the cool air of the briefing room and choosing instead to train her eyes on the entrance. She had expected Coulson to be there already, given the urgency of his call, but the man was conspicuously absent.

Hunter sighed beside her, beginning to idly tap at the stainless steel table, and Bobbi frowned. She wasn’t altogether comfortable with her husband joining her; Coulson only ever invited Hunter along if there was something _seriously_ morally grey about the situation. Then Hunter could do the dirty work and S.H.I.E.L.D. could keep its pristine reputation while still accomplishing their objectives.

The tapping stopped abruptly. “He’s coming.”

Bobbi didn’t doubt him. Fucking fish oil pill giving him enhanced hearing and giving her jack shit. 

Coulson breezed in a moment later, two manila folders tucked underneath his arm. He threw them both on the table; Bobbi took hers but Hunter left it on the table, eyes still trained on Coulson warily.

One day they were going to trust each other, Bobbi thought with a sigh. 

“We’re looking for a scientist named Leo Fitz,” Coulson said. The first picture in her folder was of a man a handful of years younger than Bobbi. He had sandy curls, bright blue eyes, and furrows in his brow that didn’t match the age he appeared.

“We tried to recruit him out of his PhD program. Didn’t work. He’s working with a private company now, Genysys.” 

Next photo, a logo. Photo after that, a looming concrete building. Next few pages were all articles about the company, mostly op-eds about ethical quandaries and shady business practices.

“Why are we looking for him now?” Bobbi asked. According to the dossier on Fitz, he had joined Genysys right out of his PhD program almost a decade ago. If the problem was Fitz working for them, it would’ve been taken care of already.

“We have reason to fear his current experiments.”

“Which are?”

“Raising people from the dead.”

“No shit,” Hunter laughed, the first words he’d said since Coulson came into the room. Coulson didn’t look nearly as amused as her husband did.

“Jemma Simmons,” Coulson announced as Bobbi flipped to the next page. The woman was even younger than Fitz, still a teenager. “Died eight years ago in a car accident. Her father lost control of the vehicle on a rainy night, and the entire Simmons family perished.”

“Point?”

“This pictures was taken outside Genysys three days ago.”

Coulson slid another picture across the table, and Bobbi’s eyebrows shot up. The woman in the photo sure as hell looked like Jemma Simmons.

“So she didn’t die. Case closed,” Hunter said.

“She died. Trust me.” Coulson didn’t explain further.

“So, Fitz decides to raise someone from the dead. Why her?”

“That’s part of what we want you to find out,” Coulson answered. “Bring them in. Quietly.”

“Why do I have a feeling it’s not as easy as you’re making it seem?”

“We have reason to believe there are… other interested parties.”

“Great,” Hunter huffed. “C’mon, Bob.” Hunter stood, leaving the unopened folder of information on the desk. Bobbi sighed and scooped hers up, nodding once to Coulson before leaving for the hangar.

\---

“Jemma?” Fitz’s voice was soft, just as it had been every time he’d addressed her since she’d woken up.

Woken up. Been raised. It was all very confusing.

This shouldn’t have been biologically possible. She shouldn’t have been able to _come back_ let alone as herself, with all her thoughts and memories and feelings. She shouldn’t have been able to come back feeling twenty-six instead of eighteen. None of this should’ve been possible, but Jemma Simmons was _alive_ and she was glad for it, even if Fitz wouldn’t tell her anything he had done to make her that way.

“Yes?”

“We need to get moving,” Fitz said apologetically. “Are you feeling up to it?”

Judging by the look in his eyes, Jemma didn’t actually have a choice in the matter. She nodded, standing shakily and drawing her blanket tighter around her shoulders. Walking felt new - and she supposed it was new, since she hadn’t done it for the last eight years. 

“That’s it,” Fitz said encouragingly, offering his elbow. Jemma wrapped her fingers around him carefully. Pressure was something she was still figuring out as well, and she wouldn’t want to cause Fitz any pain.

“Where are we going?”

“Someplace safe.”

“I’m not going to break if you tell me things, you know.” Jemma cleared her throat. “I never got the paper but I _do_ technically have a PhD.” That’s where she had been going, the night she died - to pick up her diploma from the post office. She wondered what had been done with it, but quickly pushed the thought from her head. She didn’t like remembering. Even if she had been raised… her parents hadn’t been, and she was sure she was going to be haunted by the little memory of the rainy night she held onto.

“I don’t quite know where we’re going myself,” Fitz admitted.

That wasn’t comforting whatsoever. “Why?”

“Why what?” Fitz asked. He was just as bad at faking innocence as he had been when they were teenagers.

“Why are we moving?”

Fitz seemed to be debating how much to tell her. He sighed, and stopped leading her towards the exit. “There are people who are… not happy with what I’ve done.”

“What you’ve done?” Jemma repeated, alarmed.

“With _you_ , Jemma.”

Oh.

“And you’re… running?”

“Not my choice,” Fitz said with a grimace. “There are powers beyond me, beyond even Genysys. They just want to keep you - _us_ \- safe.”

Jemma caught her lip between her teeth. Fitz had never treated her like a lab experiment, but this made her feel like one, and she wasn’t fond of it. His slip-up, that the company he worked for only cared about her, did little to help the apprehension twisting through her.

“And you think we’ll be safe where we’re going?”

“I know it.” Fitz slid his arm out of her grasp, instead lifting her hand to her mouth and pressing a warm kiss to her knuckles. “Jemma, I promise. No matter what happens, you’ll be safe.”

Jemma studied Fitz - the curl of his hair, the fan of his eyelashes, the tiny crinkles at the corner of his mouth that made him much older than he was. Last she remembered, she had trusted him with everything. He had rewritten the rules of science, rewritten the rules of _life itself_ , to bring her back.

“I trust you,” she whispered.

He smiled, and she knew she had made the right choice.

\---

Hunter stretched, grimacing as his aching muscles slotted into place. Flying across an ocean was never a fun experience, even when you did have access to impossibly-fast super-secret government technology. He wasn’t cut out to be a co-pilot.

“Think we’ll be back by dinner?” he asked nonchalantly as he stuck his gun back in its holster.

“Definitely not,” Bobbi said as she grabbed her batons. “Paperwork.”

Hunter groaned. Worst part about working (loosely) with S.H.I.E.L.D. - there was so much bloody documentation, and he had to pretend like he was a _good guy_. Of course, Hunter would never utter such words aloud because Bobbi would be pissed. She seemed to think he was actually a good guy, hence her still being married to him and all. How she believed that when she knew everything he’d done, all the blood on his hands… Hunter didn’t know, and he’d rather not ask.

“Who do you reckon the interested parties are?” He and Bobbi began the walk out of the cockpit and to the underbelly of the plane, where their standard-issue SUV was waiting. Really, the governmental types needed to learn ‘big black SUV with bulletproof windows’ wasn’t inconspicuous whatsoever. 

“Beats me.” Bobbi swung herself into the driver’s seat, and Hunter sighed before taking shotgun.

“And you think the odds of someone having to die are high?” 

“You’re here, aren’t you?”

Hunter nodded. “I hope even Coulson would be able to admit I’m of more use than just a cleanup crew, though.”

Bobbi snorted. “Maybe if you respected him a little more he’d start seeing you’re useful.” Bobbi punched a button and the Quinjet ramp lowered, allowing them to exit.

“Maybe if he respected me a little more I’d show him the same courtesy,” Hunter replied, voice cool.

“We’re not having this discussion again.”

“Fine by me.” Hunter sighed. This had been their compromise - him coming to work with S.H.I.E.L.D. as a freelancer so she could tell him more about her job, and so they didn’t have to be apart as much. Sometimes he wondered how much it helped and how much it just put a bandaid on an issue that required more.

The drive passed in relative silence. Their first course of action was to check out some real estate Genesys had invested in. The house wasn’t a recent acquisition, but it was the only holding that would make sense as a safehouse.

For an evil corporation, they were awfully bad at covering their tracks. Hunter was expecting some shell companies, maybe an offshore account or two, but it was a direct purchase.

Of course, there was always the potential it was a trap, but Hunter pretended to be an optimist, sometimes.

Besides, if it was a trap, they were more than ready for it.

\---

Nervous wasn’t quite the right word for the way he felt. He wasn’t worried for himself - Fitz was worried for Jemma. Always Jemma.

Now that he had her back it was easier to admit he had gone too far. He had done what he wanted without regard for any sort of lines; even his own morality had been abandoned in search of getting Jemma back, and now it made him feverish and malaised. He had never stopped to think how far was too far to go for love, and he _should’ve_. He should’ve.

He didn’t get to tear the world apart just because it was Jemma he was destroying it for.

He couldn’t even tell Jemma as much because she would take it as him being guilty he brought her back,and he wasn’t. He wasn’t mad with the outcome, just what he had done to get there. The ends didn’t always justify the means.

Fitz startled when a knock came at the door. He checked the phone in his palm - Genysys had promised to contact him before visiting - but he had no missed messages.

“Jemma,” he said quietly. “Go upstairs.”

He moved towards the front door while Jemma made her way up the stairwell, and didn’t open the door until she was safely out of sight.

“G’morning,” he greeted cheerfully.

The two people on the other side of the door weren’t nearly as cheerful as he was. The tall blonde didn’t smile, and the man next to her looked grim, like he was coming to announce someone had died.

“Are you Dr. Fitz?”

“I am.” Fitz wondered if that was the right choice to make.

“We have a few questions we’d like to ask you,” the woman said. “May we come in?”

Fitz hesitated.

Then, a gunshot.

Both the people on his doorstep turned towards the noise, drawing guns of their own. Glass shattered somewhere in the house, and a moment later Jemma came running down the stairs.

“Come with us,” the blonde woman ordered. “We’ll explain once you’re safe.”

Fitz gaped. He supposed if his choices were people who were okay with shooting at him and people who were _not_ okay shooting at him, he was going to take the latter.

He followed the blonde woman out the door of the house, and Jemma followed after him, obviously just as confused as Fitz was. More gunshots pealed through the air, but Fitz only realized how _dangerous_ they were when a tree beside his head let off a shower of bark. Not only were the people shooting - they were shooting _at_ Fitz.

He ducked into a black vehicle, ushered into it by the scruffy man, who was now clutching at his arm.

_Had he been shot!?_

Fitz didn’t have time to answer that before the man was tackling him, forcing him to duck his head. Another round of _pop pop pop_ filled the air, and Fitz understood why he had to be manhandled - but he was still in shock, even as the SUV pulled away from the safehouse.

The armor of the men shooting at them was emblazoned with a logo - one Fitz felt like he ought to remember, but didn’t.

Why, though, would he want to remember an octopus?

\---

Her husband was an idiot.

Bobbi knew this already, but nothing made it more obvious than how he had waited to tell her he had been fucking _shot._

Now Bobbi was sitting in the back of the Quinjet, first aid kit on her knees as she began stitching closed the bullet wound Hunter had received. He was lucky it was just a graze, Bobbi thought as she began stitching. _She_ was lucky it was just a graze, because there was no way she’d be able to handle two prisoners on her own.

They hadn’t even had time to cuff the two scientists, with the skirmish that had happened at the safehouse. Considering how easy it had been to find, Bobbi counted them lucky to have gotten to the scientists at all. Genysys obviously didn’t care much about their health or safety, and Bobbi had the sneaking suspicion it was because they had already gotten everything they needed out of Fitz.

Fitz himself wasn’t anything like Bobbi expected. He looked even younger than his photos - probably because he was still wide-eyed with fear and adrenaline. Even now he looked more curious than evil, watching Bobbi’s measured movements as she continued tending to Hunter’s wound.

“I just wanted to state, for the record, I’m pissed at you,” Bobbi said under her breath.

“Noted,” Hunter replied. He didn’t wince when Bobbi continued stitching. He wanted to seem strong and untouchable, but Bobbi was all too aware of how untrue both of those were.

Bobbi paused her work. “Do I need to start reminding you not to die again?”

“No, I’ll be fine.”

“Hey.” Bobbi waited for him to meet her eyes. “I’m serious, Hunter. I don’t want to lose you, okay?”

His frown softened, and Hunter leaned forward to press a kiss against her forehead. “Like I said, noted. Next time we’re being shot at, I’ll let one of the little scientists take the bullet.”

Bobbi snorted, but she heard a squeaking sound from behind her. One of their captives had heard the comment - but Bobbi couldn’t even make herself feel pity for them. 

Shouldn’t have been eavesdropping.

\---

“And Miss Simmons, what was your relationship to Mister Fitz prior to the accident?”

“We were friends, and lab partners.”

“Just friends?”

Jemma bristled at the implications. “Just friends.” Never mind how things had maybe changed since then.

“And why -”

“I already told you, I _don’t know_.” Most of this interrogation seemed to be about Fitz, which would have been fine if he had ever told Jemma anything. Now she seemed guilty because she was so oblivious about everything that had happened.

Jemma wanted to scream. Everything had happened _to_ her, and the only person who seemed to understand that was the blonde woman, whose name she had learned was Bobbi.

Bobbi was good cop. Coulson was bad cop.

The interrogation stretched on.

\---

He had been sent to visit the prisoners. Hunter rolled his eyes at the word prisoners - the two eggheads obviously couldn’t hurt a fly, and at no point had they ever resisted being taken. HYDRA shooting at them had probably helped grease those wheels, which was about the only thing the slimy bastards were good for.

Why he was being asked to talk to them, Hunter didn’t know.

He halted in front of the bars, staring at the two. They were sitting in the corner of their cell together, hands clasped.

“You two alright?” he asked, announcing his presence. Coulson had interrogated both of them, and interrogations were rough even if you cooperated with them.

Both blinked owlishly at him before Fitz answered.

“Yes.”

Hunter nodded. Was he supposed to say more?

“Do you understand?” Fitz asked abruptly.

“Understand what, mate?”

“Why I did it.” Fitz looked at him imploringly, and Hunter repressed his urge to snort at the scientist. Why the hell did he care whether or not _Hunter_ understood? He was about the worst person to align with when it came to S.H.I.E.L.D. Coulson didn’t trust him - no one trusted him.

“Of course I do,” Hunter said in lieu of his much more sarcastic, probably less helpful answer. “You don’t get into a career like this without losing someone,” he continued. “And I’ve lost a whole lot of people.”

Izzy. He had lost Izzy. He wasn’t going to tell Fitz that. It was a classic mistake - giving the prisoner leverage so later Fitz could use it to persuade Hunter to help him escape.

“Let me know if you two need anything,” he said.

Hunter turned on his heel before they could speak more to him. The scary part wasn’t that they might persuade him to let them out - it was that he might let them.

\---

“So. The blonde and the Brit,” Fitz said when he and Jemma were finally alone again. There was a video feed in their cell, but he couldn’t see anything that would transmit sound. Theoretically, they were safe to converse, unless someone was extremely talented at reading lips.

“I’m a Brit,” Jemma reminded Fitz.

“You know what I mean.”

She nodded. 

Being saved from certain death by two very attractive people wasn’t something that often happened to Fitz. In fact, this was the first time.

Scientifically, it was entirely natural he’d have a crush. Endorphins were strange things, and even though neither of the pair had made an effort to be nice - they were rather cold, actually, and also entirely too scary for Fitz’s normal tastes - Fitz still found himself… infatuated, maybe? Certainly fascinated. Their conversation together on the plane had made it evident they cared for each other, even though they didn’t do typical romantic things.

Then again, they were working, so perhaps they were more amorous when they weren’t with… criminals. Fitz still didn’t like the word applied to himself, and even less applied to Jemma, but for now, it was true.

He had broken an ethical code, certainly. The question would be whether or not S.H.I.E.L.D. could find an actual law he had broken.

The other question: was coldness and gruffness the way their two rescuers did flirting? That would be nice.

“You’re blushing,” Jemma said, smiling ruefully.

“I…” Fitz didn’t know how to explain himself. In the time between when Jemma had died and when she’d come back to life, he’d discovered several things about himself, including his inclination towards polyamory. He hadn’t mentioned it to Jemma, because he and Jemma weren’t even officially together, even though the feelings between them seemed to be romantic and mutual.

“They’re rather pretty,” Jemma hummed. “I think I like them.”

“Like them?” 

“Hunter did get shot for you,” Jemma pointed out. “And they seem… nice? Not nice. Fair.”

Fitz had to agree with that assessment. Niceness was a stretch, but neither of the pair of them had gone out of their way to be nasty, which was… more than he had expected after being shot at and then unceremoniously dumped into a black SUV.

“We’ll talk more about it,” Jemma promised.

Fitz wrung his hands. Talking more was good, but in order to talk, they had to stay together.

\---

“We don’t have a reason to keep them in the vault,” Coulson said simply. “We can spare you for a while.”

“A while,” Bobbi repeated. She didn’t like this at all. It felt like being put on babysitting duty, and babysitting duty wasn’t her style.

“We need to… build trust,” Coulson said eventually. “They’re not a flight risk, I don’t think, but we can’t just let them go running around. Who knows what other messes Fitz will get into.”

“And Jemma?” Bobbi asked, arching her eyebrow. It seemed unfair, Jemma’s role in this. She hadn’t asked to be raised from the dead, and probably didn’t understand how Fitz was just a cog in the machine. Hell, Bobbi didn’t even think _Fitz_ knew he was a cog in the machine. He was just the kind of idealistic young scientist Bobbi had been before S.H.I.E.L.D. She had believed she could change the world, too.

The world could still be changed, of course, but it wasn’t the work of a single person, Bobbi didn’t think. It sucked, because it seemed like one person could easily burn the world down, but it took so many people to rebuild it.

“Jemma’s an asset.”

Bobbi hated that word. “How long?” She wasn’t going to leave until she got a concrete answer to that question, at least.

“Two months minimum. Four maximum.”

“Hunter can go with me?”

Coulson sighed. “Yes.”

It couldn’t be that bad, right?

\---

There were few things in her new world Jemma knew for certain.

One: Fitz loved her.

Two: Bobbi and Hunter cared more for her than she deserved. Maybe it was their roles as her caregiver, maybe it was something else entirely, but they spoke to her the way Fitz did - softly, without judgment. Neither of them seemed to pity her, nor did they seem morbidly fascinated with her. It was like they just saw her as a person, instead of a person raised from the dead.

Jemma loved it. 

Hunter and Bobbi bickered with each other, and they’d ask her opinion on their arguments like it mattered, like she was somehow a part of their unit. Jemma didn’t think they even realized they were doing it, but she appreciated it nonetheless. It made staying in the safehouse feel less like a prison sentence and more like visiting with friends.

Friends who she had latent romantic feelings for.

After peeling back the layers on what had happened between their rescue and their departure for the S.H.I.E.L.D. safehouse, Jemma thought she had determined the root cause of her crush on Bobbi and Hunter.

Simply? They treated her like a person.

Complexly? They had never treated her as _anything_ less than a person. The others at S.H.I.E.L.D. seemed like they couldn’t figure out if she was a person or a science experiment, and Jemma didn’t like that all.

She wasn’t sure harboring her crush, and even feeding it at times, was a good idea, but it seemed too late to turn back.

\---

Once they got past the awkward, prisoners part of things, Hunter found he actually enjoyed spending time around Fitz and Simmons. Neither of them pressed him about what he had said about losing friends, which he was grateful for. He didn’t like talking about Izzy, even with Bob.

He did like talking about other things, though, and it turned out both the scientists were adept conversation partners, because they knew so much about _everything_ \- except recent events, in Jemma’s case. That was easily fixed, though. Hunter drilled her on current affairs and she exchanged that knowledge for older history. Fitz chipped in facts about football and Bobbi talked about… more intimate things. Information about his life, and hers, all collected together.

Their conversations lasted hours, which wasn’t something Hunter was used to. He and Bobbi didn’t talk as much anymore - always ended in arguments - but when they talked, all four of them, they could meander from topic to topic endlessly.

More than once they had only realized they talked through the night when they spotted the sunrise, which was… different. New.

Hunter liked it.

\---

The crush caused by endorphins was more than a crush caused by endorphins.

The time in the house proved that.

Fitz didn’t want to think about it more. He talked about it with Jemma when she asked, but he was _afraid_. He had already done unspeakable things for love once, and now…

Now he wasn’t sure what he’d do for Hunter and Bobbi.

\---

Falling in love with marks was a fatal flaw of Bobbi’s.

First Hunter. Now Fitz and Simmons.

She was pretty sure they all realized it, but she was the only one willing to call it the way she saw it. She and Hunter had conversations dancing around the subject, all of which eventually amounted to them saying if the opportunity ever arose, they should seize it.

Bobbi didn’t anticipate the opportunity arising. Fitz and Simmons seemed oblivious at best, caught up in each other at worst.

No matter what happened between the four of them, though, the time with the scientists did seem to be healing the rifts in her and Hunter’s relationship, slowly but surely.

Part of that was because their bedroom wa right next to Fitzsimmons’s, and Bobbi didn't want to be _that_ couple. Not having sex made them talk, even when they weren’t talking with the other two.

Bobbi didn’t know what the future held - she couldn’t know what the future held. But oddly, despite being her career suffering by being resigned to babysitting duty… the future seemed brighter now.

\---

He ducked out of the safehouse before dawn. Fitz and Simmons were still sleeping - Hunter checked before leaving - and so was Bob. He had scrawled her a note and left it on the bedside table so she didn’t think he’d done a runner, but he’d needed some time alone.

The wheels of the SUV crunched against the gravel of the cemetery’s paths, and Hunter pressed his lips together in a thin line. He wondered if Coulson had chosen their safehouse because of its proximity to the cemetery. He had to have known why this cemetery in particular was important to Hunter, and it felt like a test. Hunter didn’t like being tested, least of all by S.H.I.E.L.D. It was more obvious by the day S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn’t equipped to deal with the gray areas of life.

He stepped out of the vehicle and immediately made a beeline for one of the headstones. He had been there enough times to know the path to Izzy’s grave by heart, been there enough times to memorize the inscription. 

_The last enemy to be conquered is death._

How many hours had he and Izzy spent talking about religion, about where they went after? How many times had Hunter insisted there was nothing after, just a void? How many times had he regretted those words since the day Izzy died? 

If there was one thing Fitz had proved with his little experiment, it was that death could be conquered, somehow. He was still tight-lipped with the details, which was for the best, but… damn, did it hurt, knowing there was a way he could _maybe_ have her back. Hell, Hunter would settle for just having one last conversation and a proper goodbye. 

He stood there, in the grayness of the morning, for a long time. Hunter had said everything he had to say to Izzy’s grave a long time ago, but it was still a place of odd peace for him. Izzy had always been that - someone who made him feel calm without any rhyme or reason. It was part of why he had loved her so much; finding someone could bring quiet to his chaos was rare.

The grumble of another engine distracted Hunter, and he turned towards the noise, hand already reaching for his hip.

He relaxed when the car got close enough for him to see Bobbi in the driver’s seat… and Jemma in the passenger’s.

“Want company?” Bobbi asked as they ducked out of the car, Fitz appearing from the backseat.

Hunter nodded dumbly. It wasn’t like he had much of a choice in the matter.

He turned back to the headstone. A moment later, an unfamiliar hand slid into his. Hunter’s eyes flicked over to Jemma.

“I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything.”

“It feels like I did.” Jemma shrugged. “Coming back when I didn’t…”

“Deserve to?” Hunter finished. Slowly, Bobbi’s fingers threaded into his other hand, and she squeezed him gently.

Jemma nodded.

“That wasn’t your choice.” Hunter didn’t look at Fitz, not now.

“I know. But we’re all a little guilty about things that aren’t our choices.”

Hunter couldn’t disagree with her.

“Do you think maybe… life has more meaning because it ends?” Jemma suggested softly.

Bobbi squeezed his hand again.

“I do,” Fitz interjected. “Fighting against death seems so noble, but…”

“But we never appreciate what we have until we’ve lost it,” Jemma finished.

Hunter nodded. That was what had happened between Jemma and Fitz. Probably between him and Iz, as well.

“Fighting death and just laying belly up are different things, though,” Bobbi added - maybe argued? “We still have an obligation to the world. To the people we love.”

“We do,” Jemma agreed.

“As much as I’m enjoying this philosophical discussion,” Hunter interrupted, “could we maybe… not?”

He didn’t want to think about death anymore. 

“Of course,” Jemma breathed. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that!” Hunter snapped. “I forgive you, alright!?”

_I’ll always forgive you._

“Sor -”

Hunter did something stupid: he kissed her.

“What?” Jemma spluttered when he pulled back.

“All of this,” Hunter gestured to the graveyard, “doesn’t matter right now. What matters is the four of us. Together.”

He didn’t know what else to say.

\---

Fitz was not as confused as he should have been.

“You want us to get together?” he asked dumbly.

“We do,” Bobbi responded for Hunter. “We’re just… not sure how this works.”

Fitz gave them a smile. “Luckily enough, I have experience in figuring out things that seem impossible.”

He reached for Bobbi’s hand, and Jemma’s. They were both still holding onto Hunter’s, so together they made a square.

“We -”

“We’ll talk later,” Bobbi interrupted Jemma. “Let’s just have this for a moment.”

A moment. 

Fitz wanted more than a moment - 

He wanted an infinity.


End file.
